Room For Two
by Eileen
Summary: A spinoff of my For Now series featuring Chance and Ian. This is slash, but very mild slash - mostly just kissing and cuddling. Chapter 9: when fanfiction hits too close to home.
1. You Must Remember This

I can't stand it when people read over my shoulder. When I felt hot breath on the back of my neck, I looked up and said, "Can I help you with something?"

"Just curious what you're working on," said Ian.

"Well, back up a bit. Personal space, dude. I know it's a foreign concept to you, but just indulge me here, okay?"

He retreated about half a step. "Whatcha working on, Channy?"

"Don't call me that." I hate that nickname. The only one I ever let get away with that was my little brother David.

"Sorry."

"I'm thinking about writing my memoirs."

"Oh. Why?"

"Cause someone might like to read them."

"Why?"

God almighty, he drives me nuts! "What, you don't think my life is interesting enough to read about?"

"I don't know."

"Then go find something else to do. Let me write."

"Maybe I can help."

"How?" I looked at him. "How can you help?"

"Ask me anything. I remember every moment of every day of my life."

"Must be pretty boring."

"No, it isn't really. Go on, ask."

I knew I'd never get rid of him unless I did, so I said, "when did we first meet?"

"April 25, 1939. It was a Tuesday. You came in our room at 9:17 A. M. You had on a blue shirt, a brown belt, tan pants, and brown shoes with black laces."

I stared at him. He had to be making that up. "There's no way you could possibly remember all those details."

"I have a photographic memory," Ian explained. "I can see you, standing there with a brown leather suitcase in your hand. You said, 'Move, kid. That's my bed.' And I moved."

"What else do you remember?" I asked him.

"I remember that you were mean to some of the little kids, at first. But not to me. Why was that?"

I thought about it. I had bullied some of the younger kids - Adam, for one. But I'd never even thought about treating Ian that way. Why? Because he was only a year younger than me? Because he reminded me of Davey? I honestly didn't know.

"I remember the first time I saw you naked," Ian said.

Okay, that got my attention. "You saw me naked?"

"July 15, 1939. 8:27 A. M. You were coming out of the shower, and we didn't have any clean towels. You asked me to get you one."

"Yeah," I said. "So?"

"You have the cutest little mole on your left butt cheek, right about -"

"Stop! That is privileged information!"

"I've seen it. Once it's in here," he said, tapping his forehead, "it's in here for good. I'll be seeing it in my head when I'm ninety."

"Good for you. Now can I get back to work?"

"I even remember the first time I kissed you."

"The first time you - what?"

And then he kissed me. Just like that.

Yeah. Did not see that coming.

Except . . . it wasn't that bad, really. In fact, it was kind of nice.

_What am I doing?_

But I didn't want to stop.

_I'm not gay . . . am I?_

I'd been raised to believe that kind of thing was evil, an abomination against God, a sin of the highest order. Then I came here. Master Eubulon told us that love is never wrong. Unless it's forced, or unhealthy, love can never be wrong.

_If loving you is wrong . . . I'm good with that. You don't need to force me. I'll meet you halfway. How can a feeling like this be bad?_

When Ian broke away, I could see he was struggling with the same feelings I was.

"June 28, 2008. 3:24 P. M. I'll always remember."

If nothing else, this was gonna be an interesting chapter in the memoir.


	2. Sleeping With the Octopus

Bedtime comes early around here. Well, we're up at five-thirty in the morning, so we usually go to bed no later than ten or so. It was nine forty-five, and I was just getting my pajamas out of the drawer when there was a knock on my door.

Okay, nothing unusual there. I figured it was Len or Nolan with a reminder about one-on-one training tomorrow. I opened the door.

To my surprise, Ian was standing there.

"Hey," he said.

"What's up?"

He kind of bit his lip, looked up at the ceiling, and then sighed.

"What?" I asked.

"What what?"

"What was that big sigh about?"

"Why's it gotta be about something? Can't I just breathe for the sake of breathing?"

I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Okay, fine. What is it you want?"

"Can I sleep with you?" he blurted out.

I blinked.

"I don't mean sleep with you, sleep with you. Unless you want to. But you don't have to. I . . . um . . . you . . ."

I put my hands on his shoulders. "Stop. Take a deep breath. Start over."

He did so. "Is it okay if I sleep in here?"

"Don't you have your own bed?"

"Yeah, but . . . I kinda miss lying there in the dark and listening to you breathing. I always liked that, when we were together. Not together together, I mean . . . in the same room. Sleeping. Can I do that?"

"My bed isn't that big, buddy."

"That's okay. I don't take up too much room."

"Why didn't you tell me this before? I could have arranged something."

"I didn't want you to think I was being a baby. I'm not afraid to sleep alone, I just . . . like sleeping with you better."

Well, that didn't sound so bad. Just one night, right? In the morning, he could go back to his own room. "Fine. You can stay."

"Great! Let me get my stuff!"

"What stuff?" I said, but he was gone already. How long did he think he was staying?

I hoped he brought his own pillow. There was no way I was sharing Illy, not even with Ian. I grabbed an extra blanket, remembering that Ian was always cold at night. By the time I had it on the bed straight, he was back.

"What did you have to get?" I asked.

"My PJ's, my clothes for tomorrow. My pillow."

"Good."

"And Shelldon, of course."

"Who's Shelldon?"

He tossed me something soft and yellowish. I took a good look at it. It was a plush crab, sort of goldish, with big cartoon eyes. "Hey, he kind of looks like your Advent Beast. In Candy Land."

"Yeah, I know."

"Where'd you get him?"

"I won him. At the carnival, playing Skee-Ball. Once I saw him, I had to have him. I must have played for five hours to get enough tickets."

"Those games are such a rip-off. You could buy something like this in a store for five bucks, and how much did you spend trying to win him? Probably twenty, thirty dollars, right?"

He just shrugged. "I don't buy a lot of stuff. I wanted him. So I played till I got him."

"Fine with me. Just keep Shelldon on your side of the bed." I grabbed my pajamas and went into the bathroom to change.

"Where are you going?" Ian already had his shirt off, and his pants unzipped.

"I don't wanna see you naked," I said, making this about him. "I'll be right out. You get in first."

"Why?"

"If you're on the outside, you'll fall out of bed. Just don't hog all the covers, okay?"

Whatever he said was lost in the slam of the bathroom door. I hadn't meant to; I was just in a hurry.

The truth was, I didn't want Ian to see me naked (again) until I was ready for him to see me naked. I was trying to ease into this whole relationship thing one step at a time. It wasn't that I didn't want to . . . you know, but it would happen when it happened. Not yet.

I pulled an old pair of socks on, cause there's nothing worse than having someone's cold feet on you. I knew Ian wore socks even in the middle of the summer. He'd grown up in a warm climate, and anything below eighty degrees was freezing to him. He didn't do well in the winter at all.

I came out of the bathroom to find Ian already in the bed, perched on the edge, covers pulled up to his chest. "You know you're wearing one blue sock and one brown sock?"

"So what?" I looked down at the offending footwear. "No one's gonna see 'em."

"Yeah, but I know they're there."

"You'll have your eyes closed!"

"But I'll **know** they're **there**," he insisted.

"Fine." I hunted through the sock basket till I found the other blue sock, and stripped off the offending brown. "There," I said, as I stood there in matching socks. "Happy?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Good. Now move over."

"Your sheets are cold."

"I know. That's cause they haven't been slept in for sixteen hours. Move already!"

He slid over against the wall, and I climbed in.

"You need a bigger bed."

"There's no room in here for a bigger bed. The one I've got takes up all the space as it is."

"Move some things."

"What things?"

"The stand over there, for one."

"What? But that's where all my mechas are! They need a flat surface to stand up!"

"Put them on the dresser."

"There isn't room on the dresser."

"Move stuff off it."

"Can we just go to sleep already?" I knew we could go on like this all night, and I didn't want to miss any sleep over it.

"Okay. Night, Channy."

"And don't call me Channy!" But he was already rolled over on his side, facing the wall. Good. Plenty of room for me, then. I rearranged my limbs into the most comfortable position that took up the least amount of room, and closed my eyes.

I woke up in a panic as something tried to choke the life out of me. I gasped for breath and fought what turned out to be . . . an arm. Ian had rolled over in his sleep, and his arm had fallen across my neck in such a way that it cut off my oxygen supply. I lifted it up as gently as I could and moved it somewhere a little less life-threatening. He never so much as twitched.

Okay, fine. We were good now. I went back to sleep.

Only to wake up again two hours later when the same thing happened again. So much for him staying on his side of the bed. I realized as I moved his arm off me that I needed to pee, so I disentangled myself and got up to go to the bathroom.

When I came back, Ian had flopped over onto **my **side of the bed.

I wanted to kill him.

There was no way to move him without waking him. He was sprawled out completely over the bed, so I couldn't just crawl under him again. I'd have to shove him over somehow.

Which proved easier said than done.

I could have done it when he was twelve. He was a scrawny little kid then, who barely weighed more than eighty pounds or so. As you might guess, he was a lot bigger and stronger now.

I'd have to wake him up.

"Ian?" I prodded the closest part of him hanging out of the sheets. "Ian, wake up."

No response. I mean nothing.

"Ian! Come on, you have to move!" I tried shoving him over. No good.

In frustration, I smacked him in the head. Not hard, mind you. Just (hopefully) enough to get his attention.

He began to stir and mumble a little, and now I was worried that he'd wake up and be mad at me. But he just rolled over towards the wall again.

Phew. Finally.

I climbed into bed as carefully as I could, scrunched into the available space, and went back to sleep.

I haven't needed an alarm clock in years. I woke up at five twenty-nine, to find that not only was there an arm around my shoulders, but there was also a leg thrown over mine. Ian's other arm was tucked around my waist, and his head was pressing into my back.

It was like sharing a bed with an octopus.

I didn't bother being delicate about it now. I nudged him till he opened his eyes and smiled at me.

"Morning, sweetie."

"Yeah, whatever. Get off me."

"I told you, you need a bigger bed."

"I **don't** need a bigger bed, because you're not sleeping in here again!"

He looked at me like he was about to cry. "What did I do?"

"I told you to stay on your side of the bed!"

"I did!"

"No, you didn't! You were practically on top of me when I woke up!"

"I can't help it if I move in my sleep! It's not like I **mean** to do it!"

He was right, of course. Didn't make it any less annoying, but still . . . short of putting up an actual wall in the middle of the bed, there wasn't anything I could do about it.

And then I realized that I was thinking about this becoming a regular thing. What happened to "just for one night?"

"You know what we should do?" he was saying, looking around the room. "Knock down the wall."

"What?"

"Since we have adjoining rooms, all we have to do is knock down the wall. Then we have the same amount of space, we're just . . . sharing it. And we can move in a bigger bed."

"Don't go knocking down any walls yet," I said. "Let's wait a while and see how it works out. We don't want to find out we don't get along after we've taken the wall down, do we?"

He shrugged. "I guess not. I'm gonna go get dressed." He grabbed the bag with his clothes and headed into the bathroom.

I decided to follow suit. I lifted my pajama top up over my head . . .

And Shelldon fell out.

I picked it up and looked at it. Something about the way it was staring at me with that cheesy grin made me laugh. He couldn't stay on his side of the bed either.

But it would be a while before I let Ian get that close to me. One step at a time.


	3. Start Spreading the News

The time had come, now, to let our friends in on our little secret. It had been nearly two weeks since Ian and I had shared a bed, and though we hadn't gone any further yet, there was no going back. We were a couple. And it was time to let our friends know about it.

I told Ian to let me handle it. He's not exactly known for his subtlety, and I didn't want him blurting it out at the breakfast table or whatever. That would be awkward, wouldn't it? "Pass the sugar, and by the way, Chance and I are gay." Yeah, not happening.

The best way to do it, I figured, would be one at a time. So I waited for an opportunity to get someone alone and confess to them. It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.

Finally, one day after a workout, Kit and I were the only ones left in the locker room. I decided to go ahead and get it over with.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" I said, once we were both fully dressed.

"Sure," he said. We both sat down on the bench. "What's up?"

I took a deep breath and tried to organize my thoughts. "It's about . . . Ian and me. The two of us. Together."

He nodded but said nothing. I pressed on. "You see, we've sort of . . . come together, I mean as a couple. It was something neither of us expected, but once we got together, it just . . . felt so right. We haven't actually done anything yet, but I just wanted you to know, to - to understand what's going on with us. You're the first one I've told, so far. But we're going to tell everyone, eventually. Everyone should know about this, don't you think?"

I waited to see his reaction. He just smiled and touched me on the arm in a friendly way. "It's okay, dude. I know."

"Oh, that's good, I thought you - wait, you know? What do you mean, you know?"

"I kind of figured something like that. Don't worry, I'm cool with it."

"How did you know? We were very discreet!"

He gave me a look. "The other night, when we were all watching TV? He had his head in your lap."

"He did?" I thought back. Come to think of it, he had been a little . . . snuggly that night. "I guess he did. Does everyone know?"

"I don't know. I think most of them probably suspect. No one's said anything, though. I think they'll be okay with it."

"Well, that's a load off my mind." It would make things so much easier if everyone was good with us being together. "You didn't seem surprised or anything. Why is that?"

"It's not a big deal for me. What two consenting adults do in private is their own business. That means I don't wanna know what you're up to." He grinned, and I knew everything would be okay between us.

"Who do you suggest I talk to next?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "It's up to you. Whoever you feel needs to know. If they don't already."

"Ian's talking about knocking down the wall between our rooms and putting in a bigger bed."

"Sounds like a big job. Kase and Len just put in a door."

"Yeah, well, they can get away with smaller beds. They don't roll all over the place in their sleep."

"See, that's the kind of thing I really didn't need to know. TMI, dude, TMI!"

We were laughing about that as we went up to the dormitory level. As we got closer to my room, I could hear something that sounded like . . . oh boy.

"I thought you said he was just talking about it, not actually doing it," Kit said, peering through the open door at the activity within.

"What is he doing?" I had a look for myself.

Ian was supervising a bunch of our friends as they smashed the wall down with sledgehammers. There were drop cloths over all the furniture, and another crew was working on repainting the walls of what was formerly a separate room.

"What the fraz are you doing, Ian?" I demanded at the top of my lungs. "We were going to talk about this! You don't just go and knock down my walls behind my back! Where's all my stuff? Where's the stand with my action figures? Why didn't you **tell** me before you went and did this?"

The guys stopped working and stood there staring at us. Ian tried to look nonchalant, but failed miserably. "I didn't mean to do it behind your back! But after I told the guys all about us, they insisted on helping out! I think we should do green walls with a gold trim right along the top, how's that?"

"What are you talking about? You told them? I told you I would handle that! Don't you listen to a word I say?"

"I just wanted to help," he said, looking very unhappy. "It was going to be a surprise!"

"Oh, I'm surprised, all right? Now where. Is. My. Stuff?"

"Chance, don't be so hard on him," Kit said. "So he was a little . . . eager to get things done. It's only because he cares about you and he wants things to be perfect for you."

"Your stuff is in the closet for now," said Len, who was part of the work crew. "We're going to put shelves on the far wall for you. After we move the bed in, that is."

"You already bought the bed?" I looked at Ian.

"I found the perfect one, online. We pick it up tonight. What color sheets do you want? I was thinking gold and white, to go with the whole color scheme . . ."

Kit was shaking his head and chuckling. "You thought no one would buy you two as a couple?" he said to me. "You already sound like you're married!"

"Oh, be quiet," I said, "and get that wall down."


	4. Tearing Down the Wall

I told Ian I needed a little time to myself. He was too busy with the remodeling job to ask where I was going; he just nodded and went back to looking at paint swatches. At least he was having fun.

I went down to the target range for a little weapons practice. I was only using a practice weapon, little more than a glorified Nerf gun, but before I knew it I had completely destroyed three targets, and the fourth was looking ragged around the edges.

"You always were hard on targets."

I whirled around. "Master?" I swear, the man moves like a cat - or a ghost. You don't know he's there until he wants you to know he's there.

"Want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me!"

He looked at the line of destroyed targets, and then back at me.

I sighed. "Okay, it's . . . you've heard about me and Ian?"

He nodded. "He's knocking down the wall between your rooms right now."

"That's okay, isn't it? I told him to wait for me before he did anything, but I guess he wanted to get it done right away."

"He is impulsive. He's doing a good job, though. Something tells me . . . your walls won't come down so easily."

I knew what he was talking about. "I know you've always said that you can't help who you love, and it's never wrong as long as there's mutual respect, but I was raised to think that what I'm doing, what I'm feeling, is . . . evil."

"Your father."

"I thought I could move on. I thought we'd worked out my issues with him. Then something like this comes up, and . . ." I sat down on a bench, and Master Eubulon joined me. "When am I going to be done with him?"

"When you learn to let go of your past, and not let it define you."

"But you always said that our past is what makes us who we are!" I was totally confused. "How can I just ignore . . . what that man did to me?"

"By focusing on the positive. The good things that came out of your past. Like your brother."

"Who's dead."

"Yes, but you're getting to know the person he was, through his son."

"Dave?* Yeah, he's cool. He looks so much like my father, though . . ."

"Does that make it hard to trust him?"

"A little, yeah. But I'm trying."

"Have you told Dave about your relationship with Ian yet?"

"No. I . . . I don't know how to bring it up. I don't know what he'll think."

"What he thinks is his problem, not yours. Don't let it stop you from doing what you want to do."

"That's easy to say, but . . . I don't want something like this to get in the way when we're just beginning to form a relationship. I mean, I think he'll be okay with it, but it's hard to tell. I don't really know him that well yet."

"At least you're willing to give him a chance."

"He's not my father. I know that." I thought about my twisted, horrific childhood, and marveled that I had survived it at all. "How can the man still have the power to make my life miserable from beyond the grave?"

"Because you give him that power."

I sat there and stared at my teacher, my mentor, my friend. "Why would I do that?"

"I know you don't mean to. But every time you let his prejudices get in the way of your love, you let him win. You need to just let him go. He's dead now; he can't hurt you anymore. Stop worrying about what he would think. What matters is what you think. And, of course, what Ian is thinking and feeling. Live your own life, not the one your father wanted for you."

I nodded. It made sense. "I'll try, Master."

"Good. Now go back and help Ian fix up your room."

"I will."

"And you're paying to replace those targets."

I looked at him. "All of them?"

"Equipment is expensive. You break it, you bought it."

"Okay," I sighed. "Do we have to pay for the wall too?"

"No, I don't think so," he said with a smile. "Enjoy yourselves."


	5. Those Three Little Words

I woke up one morning to find Ian lying on his side, staring at me.

"Gaaah!" Then I got hold of myself. "What are you doing, watching me sleep?"

"Is that okay? I like watching you sleep. You look so sweet."

"Yeah, okay." I started to turn away to get out of bed. He was still staring. "What?"

"Do you love me?"

"What? Of course I do! You know that!"

"You never say it."

"I do! I mean, I must. Don't I?"

He shook his head. "You have never, once, since we've been together, said the words 'I love you.'"

"Are you sure?"

"Photographic memory, remember? I can recall every single word you've ever said to me. Those three were not among them."

"But . . . you know I . . . you know, don't you? Do I really have to tell you in so many words?"

"Are you afraid?"

"No!" That came out a little too loud. I softened my tone. "No, I'm not - not afraid. I don't think so."

"Then why can't you say it?"

"I don't know! I didn't think it was such a big deal!"

That brought on his pouty face, and I felt guilty. "Maybe you don't."

"Don't what? Don't love you? Oh, come on! Look at me! Ian, look at me."

He tilted his face up towards me, but his eyes were still looking down.

"Just because I don't say it in so many words doesn't mean I don't feel it. You're reading too much into things. Do you think I'd be here if I didn't love you?"

"But you never tell me."

"Do you think just because you don't hear the words, that makes it not true? Does it mean that much to you?"

He doesn't answer.

"I'm sorry I can't say it yet. I'm . . . still working out some things. But I want to be with you. I like being with you."

"You want to take your shower first?" he mumbled into the pillow.

I sighed. "Yeah, okay." Since I was on the outside, I had to get up first anyway.

We still have two bathrooms, but we can't both take a shower at the same time. The water pressure can't take it, or something. I brought my clothes in with me, so I could get dressed after I finished showering, and not have Ian see me naked. Still not ready for that yet.

There was so much we still didn't know. But there were ways to find out. I had forbidden Ian to look for anything online, because half the stuff that comes up is usually porn. However, I had gone by a Gay and Lesbian Community Center while I was downtown looking for something else, and I was hoping we could stop in and ask a few questions. I mean, when we were growing up, you just didn't talk about things like that. How were we supposed to know what to do?

I came out, and Ian went into his bathroom. Rather than wait for him, I decided to seek someone's advice on the three words I couldn't say. The best person to ask, I thought, was someone who was in a long-term relationship.

Len wasn't in the dining hall. He wasn't in either of the two dojos. I was about to go outside and see if he was practicing on the lawn when I passed the third-floor kitchenette and saw him having a cup of coffee.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked up. "Go right ahead. I think there's a little left in the pot. It's decaf, though, if that matters."

"I like decaf." I went into the cabinet and found a mug that said I LOVE MONDAYS (and briefly wondered who the masochist was), filled it from the pot, and added an insane amount of cream and sugar. Real cream, and real sugar. I hate low-fat, low-calorie, artificial anything. I stirred the cup exactly nine times and then sat down.

"Everything going okay for you guys?"

"Well . . . kind of."

"Kind of? What's wrong?"

"He's all in a snit because I've never told him I love him."

"Well, why not?"

"I didn't think it was necessary. I mean, he knows I love him. Why do I have to say the words? They're just words."

"Words can be very important."

"My dad used to tell me he loved me. Right after he . . . hurt me. How important were those words?"

He didn't say anything to me, just sipped his coffee.

"I know, I know, I can't let go of it yet. I'm trying, but . . . I can't just forget something like that. The man screwed up my head so badly that I don't know if I can ever love anyone again. It's like he poisoned my whole psyche."

"You have to forgive him before you can move on."

"I can **not **forgive what he did to me! That is unforgivable! No parent should ever do that to their own child!"

"You've forgiven yourself for leaving your brother behind. Now you have to forgive him."

"I can't. You have no idea what it was like. And just when I think I'm okay with it, it comes back again to bite me in the-" I just looked down at the table and shook my head. "This is so messed up."

Len put a hand on my shoulder. "You'll be fine. Are you still seeing that therapist Dave recommended?"

"I . . . I haven't called him yet."

"Well, you should. I think you need to talk about this, even if you don't want to right now. You've done such a good job so far dealing with this. Now you just need to take the next step. There's a lot going on in your life right now that you need to sort out. So call the man already."

"Yeah, I will. But first, I think I need to talk to Ian. I have something I have to tell him."

"Aren't you gonna finish your coffee first?"

I looked down. The cup was still full. And it had cooled to the point where I could drink it without burning my tongue. "Right. Why waste good coffee?"

When I got back to the room, Ian was dressed and sitting on the freshly made bed.

"You didn't need to do that," I said, referring to the making of the bed. "We have maid service."

"I messed it up looking for Shelldon, and I didn't want to leave it like that."

"Okay." I looked at my watch. Neither of us had morning training today; we were essentially on our own till lunch. Not that either of us had even had breakfast yet. But there were some things that were more important than food. I sat down beside him, trying not to mess up the bed.

"About this morning . . ." I began.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Why are you sorry? I was wrong. I was a stubborn jackass, and you've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I shouldn't have pushed you. I know this is hard for you to deal with and all-"

"That's not the point. I wasn't thinking about your feelings. Words don't mean much to me, but they mean everything to you. I promise, from now on, I'll tell you I love you every morning when we wake up, and every night before we fall asleep. And every minute in between."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's no less than you deserve. You're the best thing I've got. I don't want to lose you."

He leaned his head on my shoulder, and I put my arm around him. "Much as I'd like to sit here like this all morning," I said, "we've got a ten o'clock appointment down at the Center."

"Center?"

"Yeah, the . . . what do you call it . . . BLT or GBLT or whatever it is."

"LGBT? I wondered what that was."

"Then after that, I have a phone call to make. But first, we should go have breakfast."

"I want French toast."

"Sounds good," I said. "I love you, Ian." There. I'd said it. And it wasn't so bad after all.


	6. Sick Day

Sharing a room wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be. The first few days were an adjustment, of course, but once we got past that, it was nice. It was nice to come in after practice and find Ian there, reading or watching the little TV we'd moved in to the cabinet on his side of the room. It was especially nice to get into a warm bed and feel his long limbs wrap around me. The way he curled around me just felt so right now.

Morning came, and with it the usual process of disentangling myself from my bed-hogging boyfriend. I moved an arm off my back, lifted his leg off mine, and got up to shower, confident that I'd come back to find him laying out my clothes for the day. He'd taken to doing that lately, even though I'd told him I could dress myself. He was such a little housewife.

But when I came out of the bathroom, Ian was still in the same position on the bed as he'd been when I'd left him. This was unusual. He was a deep sleeper, true, but once I was up, he was soon to follow. Not today, though.

"Ian," I murmured, nudging him slightly. "Wake up. You're gonna miss the morning session if you don't get up now."

At last, signs of life. He rolled over, sniffed . . . and sneezed three times in a row.

"Bless you," I said. "I left you some hot water. There's just enough time for a quick shower."

He sniffed again and rubbed at his eyes. "I don't feel so good, Channy."

"What do you mean, you don't feel good?"

"I don't **feel **good!" And then he started coughing. It seemed to go on forever. I sat beside him on the bed and rubbed his back until he could breathe again.

"I guess you really don't feel good," I said. "You stay in bed, then. I'll be back with your breakfast in a little while."

"No," he said, reaching for me. "Don't leave me. Stay."

"I think you'll be all right for a couple of hours. You're not dying or anything."

"Please," he groaned. "I need you."

I looked at him. His cheeks were already flushed with the start of a fever, his nose was red, and his eyes were watery. He looked awful, and I couldn't just leave him here alone, could I? At the very least, he needed medicine.

"Okay," I said. "I'll stay. But you have to do what I say."

"I will," he said, although we both knew how it would go. Ian is probably the worst patient in the history of the world. He won't take his medicine, he won't stay in bed, and he doesn't even want to eat most of the time when he's sick. I'd have to practically force soup and fluids and medicine down his throat, and I was not looking forward to that at all. But Ian needed me, so I would stay.

I made the call to let everyone else know that the two of us would be unavailable for today, probably tomorrow as well, and possibly longer. I had no idea if this was just a cold, or the flu, or something worse. Right now it didn't seem too bad, so I got the cold medicine out of the bathroom and prepared a dose. Then I woke Ian, who had fallen asleep again, and told him he had to take it.

You would think I was trying to give him poison or something. First he buried his head under the pillow. Then, when I pulled it off him, he turned toward the wall, and would not budge no matter what I did.

"Ian, don't be a baby! Take your damn medicine!"

"I don't want to." Muffled against the bed. Great, now he was getting snot and drool all over the sheets. I was sleeping on the floor tonight.

"Come on, you want to get better, don't you? Just take this, and you can go right back to sleep. I won't bother you again till lunch time."

"Not hungry."

"You will be. You can't not eat, buddy. Don't do this to yourself."

"Go away."

I knew he didn't mean it. If I took so much as one step out that door, he'd be begging me to come back. But I wasn't in the mood for this. "Take your medicine and I'll leave you alone."

"I don't wanna."

"Void and darkness, stop acting like such a brat! Just take it already!"

He turned away, towards the wall.

"What do you want me to do? Sing you a song? Read you a story? What?"

His reply was a mumble against the damp sheets.

"I didn't catch that."

He poked his head up a bit. "Find Shelldon. I can't find him."

"What do you mean, you can't find him? You brought him to bed last night, didn't you?" He's like a little kid with that thing. "He has to be either in the bed, or under the bed. He didn't get spirited off to Pluto or something."

"He's not here."

I got down on my knees and reached around under the bed. "The things I do for you . . . he's not under here. Did you look in the bed?"

But when I came up, Ian was asleep. Great.

I put the medicine aside, till he woke up, and peeled back the covers just enough to reach in and feel around. I finally found Shelldon way down at the bottom of the bed. I tucked him in beside Ian and went to get something to eat.

When I came back, Ian was awake.

"You left me! Why did you leave me?"

"Calm down, princess. I only left to get you some food. Which you will eat, and then you can take your medicine, and then I was thinking I could put on a movie."

"No explosions," he said. "My head hurts enough already."

"No, you'll like this one. Eat first."

He pouted. "I knew there was a catch."

I opened the container of oatmeal for him, and he managed almost all of it before he got tired. "What movie?"

"Medicine first."

"Just tell me?"

I sighed and showed him the box.

"_Grease_? You brought me _Grease_?"

"Now will you take the medicine?"

He took it. Then I put the movie on for him, and we snuggled up together. I didn't care if I got sick. It was worth it to spend the whole day together like this. Maybe Ian should get sick more often.

"Chaaaaaance! Get me another blanket! I'm freezing!"

Then again . . .


	7. Bed, Bath, and Blowups

All couples fight at some point. No two people, no matter how compatible they are, can ever agree about everything. Some disagree more than others.

Kase and Len hardly ever fight. They did have one bad one, right before the wedding, but I think that was just nerves. They know each other so well that they're pretty in tune with each other, and each other's needs.

Ian and I are just starting out. Though we've known each other for a long time, it's different being a couple. Plus I was still getting used to all these new feelings.

Our first real fight was in the bed and bath store, when we were picking out sheets for our new queen sized bed.

"Nothing frou-frou," I insisted. "No flowers or ruffles or anything like that. Something plain and simple."

"Okay," he said, but right away I could see he was drawn to the pretty stuff. I did my best to steer him away from that and towards the functional.

"How about this one?" I said, looking at a dark green pattern. "It goes with the room."

"Yeah, your half."

"I thought we agreed there wasn't gonna be a 'my half' and 'your half.' It's one room."

"This one's nice," he said, looking at the display set.

I came and took a look for myself. "That has flowers on it."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yeah, it does. Little tiny ones. Look." I held up the fabric so he could see. "It's nice from a distance, though."

"Can we get it?"

Sigh. "No, Ian, we're not getting it. Let's keep looking."

I could see a pout forming, so I added, "Maybe you'll see one you like better. Let's see what's on sale."

We then perused the clearance aisle, which was pretty sad-looking. Stuff was ripped open and thrown everywhere. When I did find something I liked, there was no price on it. And not a store employee in sight to help us.

"You stay here," I said to Ian. "Make sure no one takes this before I get back."

He looked down at the brown-and-white pattern. "Who would?" he muttered. "It's ugly."

"It is not! Just stay here, okay?"

"Okay, fine. I'll stay and guard the ugly bedspread for you."

I chose to ignore that last comment, and went up and down the aisles looking for someone to help us. The whole section of the store was deserted. I had to go all the way to the front of the store before I saw any signs of life.

I waited in the rather long line for what seemed like hours. Finally I got to the front of the line. And all the cashiers went on break simultaneously. The only person to survive the mass exodus was way down at the other end, taking a return. I waited for her to finish, and as soon as the customer left, headed down.

"Hi," I said. "I just needed a price on a quilt, but there was no one around. Then I get up here, and everyone takes off. Did my Right Guard stop working, or what?"

She laughed. "Oh, no. Change of shift. The night crew should be here any minute, so don't worry."

"Any chance one of them could come back to the comforter wall with me?"

"I'll see. Oh, good, here's Paul. He's our bedding specialist."

"I didn't know there was such a thing. Okay, thanks a lot."

"You're one of those Kamen Riders, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"Could I have your phone number, or is that a matter of national security?"

I blinked. Did she think I was flirting with her? Was I? Void, this was confusing. "Um, I-" I leaned in closer. "I'm sort of here with my boyfriend."

Her eyes widened. "Oh. I'm sorry. I mean, not that you're - I'm sorry if I offended you."

"No problem. Thanks for all your help. Come on, Paul," I said to the guy, who was just standing there.

We went back to the aisle where the thing was, but it wasn't there any more. Neither was Ian. I looked around for him and finally found him in the section with dried flowers, of all places.

"What are you doing over here?" I demanded. "Where's the thing I told you to keep an eye on?"

"Some lady bought it," he said, picking up a bag of potpourri and sniffing it.

I ripped it out of his hands and threw it down. "I told you to watch it! Guard it with your life, I said! Why'd you let someone else walk off with it?"

He shrugged. "It was ugly."

"I don't care! I wanted that!"

"It's my bed, too!" Ian shouted. "Why can't I pick something out?"

"Cause I don't like your taste!"

He stared at me, open-mouthed. I couldn't believe I had just blurted out something like that. "Ian, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

"I'll go wait outside," he snapped, and walked away.

I hadn't realized Paul was still there until he cleared his throat. "Oh, Void, I'm so sorry you had to see that. He's not usually like that."

"It's okay," Paul said. "Actually, my brother's gay. He and his partner fight like that all the time. 'Look out,' he says, 'Dylan's getting his bitch on.' They had a massive screaming match in Macy's one time that stopped traffic."

"Why do they stay together, then?"

"Stuff builds up, you know? Every couple needs a good fight every now and then, to clear the air. Besides, he says the making up is the best part."

"Hey, thanks a lot. You've been a great help."

"Anything else I can do for you?"

I thought about it. "Yeah, actually, there is." I walked him back over to the comforter section. "How much is this one with the flowers?"

Ian was waiting for me by the (borrowed) car.

"Listen," I said, "I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it. So we don't have the same taste. So what? You like flowers, I like stripes. I like classic rock, you like doo-wop. Nothing wrong with that."

"What did you get?"

I opened the bag and showed him.

"I thought you said you hated the flowers."

"I never said that! Actually . . . I don't mind. You can't really tell they're flowers from far away. They just look like dots. Besides, who cares what we have on our bed, anyway? Who's gonna see it? You. Me."

"The maids."

"So what? None of their business."

"What color sheets did you get?"

"Just plain white. That way, the next time we change it, we won't need all new everything."

"We just got this thing, and already you want to change it?" He smirked at me.

"I'm learning to think long-term," I said. "Come on, let's go home."


	8. Fluffy Blanket

The blanket was in a box of some things Ian's sister had found in the old house in Nevada. She'd sent them along with a note that said basically, "I forgot to give these to you when you visited. Hope that's okay."

Most of it was junk - old toys, clothes that had long since been outgrown, inexplicable odds and ends like buttons and old sewing needles and unidentifiable little metal bits - but way in the bottom was a folded batch of fluffy cloth.

"My blankie!" Ian said, hugging it to himself.

"Geez, wash it first, would you? That thing's been in an attic for seventy years! No telling what kind of filth it's attracted."

"My mother made this for me, you know. Took her a year and a half. See all the little fiddly bits on the ends? All hand-knotted."

"It's a wonder it's still intact," I said. "Go get it cleaned, would you? Don't put it in the washing machine. It'll shrink and unravel. Take it to the cleaners."

"Okay, I will."

"Fine." I thought that would be that. He would get it cleaned, then bring it home, and put it on a shelf forever.

I didn't expect that after he brought it home, he'd want to put it on the bed.

"But it doesn't even go with our color scheme!"

"Sure it does! It's yellow! Well, mostly yellow. It'll be fine."

"What do you need another blanket for? It's July! It's ninety degrees out! How can you possibly need another blanket?"

"It's cold in here at night."

"No, it isn't! It isn't any colder in here than in any other room in this whole place! They're all kept at the same temperature - seventy-two degrees."

"I'm cold," he said. "I want the blanket."

"You know, I wake up every morning sweating to death because of all your stupid blankets! Can't you just . . . put it away?"

"It's been put away for too long. It needs to be used."

"It's not alive, you know."

"I know. Things should be used, that's all. I'll fold it up and lay it on the end in the daytime, and only spread it out at night."

"All right, fine. If that's what you want."

It wasn't that bad, really. Once it was cleaned up, it was a nice shade of yellow, a very soft baby yellow. Which made sense if it was his childhood blankie. It was nice and soft to the touch, too. It wasn't that big - it barely covered half the bed - but it might be nice to have an extra layer in the wintertime.

But right now it was the middle of summer, and I didn't think we needed another blanket. Maybe if he kept it on his side of the bed . . .

Yeah, that was the plan. And when we went to bed, it was draped over his half of the bed. But with the way Ian sleeps, rolling around all over the place, it didn't stay there very long. When I woke up, it was on my head. I pulled it off, and that's when I noticed I was having trouble breathing.

Nothing life-threatening, or anything like that. But I was so stuffed up I had to breathe through my mouth until I could get to a tissue. And one didn't do the trick; I went through half the box before I could get any air in through my nose. I wondered if I was getting a cold.

After a while, my sinuses cleared up, and by the end of the day, I thought that I'd beaten it. Sometimes that happens. I went to bed feeling confident that I wouldn't have to stock up on Nyquil.

Only to wake up again with the same thing.

It felt like someone had opened up the top of my head, poured in about a quart of liquid Jello, and then closed it up again before it fully set. I could feel stuff sloshing around in there, and it hurt.

"You okay, Channy?" Ian asked me, when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples.

"I think I'm getting a cold or something," I said. "I'm all stuffed up."

"Poor baby." He came over and put his hand on my forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"You should go to the infirmary and get checked out. Go on, I'll let everyone know where you are."

"I don't know . . . it cleared up on its own yesterday. Maybe it will again."

"And maybe it won't. Go already!" He turned away and began making the bed, shaking out that blanket of his.

All of a sudden, I started wheezing. It was like I couldn't get any air into my lungs. Ian stopped what he was doing and came over. "Chance? What's wrong?"

I just shook my head helplessly, unable to speak.

"Come on, I'll help you." He put his arm around my shoulders and helped me down to the infirmary. Funny, but . . . the further I got from the dorms, the easier it was to breathe. By the time we actually reached the infirmary, I was feeling a lot better.

The doctor wasn't in, but one of the nurses gave me a full work-up. "You seem pretty healthy to me," she said. "When did you start having symptoms?"

"Yesterday. I was okay when I went to sleep, but I woke up all congested and stuff. It went away, though. I thought I'd beaten it. Then this morning, it was like I just couldn't breathe. But it got better on the way down here."

"Uh huh." She wrote something on the chart. "You say it cleared up on its own?"

"Yeah. Then it came back. Funny, huh?"

"Let me ask you this: have you ever had any allergies?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid, but not for years . . ." Then it hit me. "The blanket! It has to be! That's why I was okay when I went to sleep, but all stuffy when I woke up! And he was so happy, too. It'll break his heart to have to put it away."

"What's it made of? Do you know?"

"Not really. Do you need to see it?"

"I don't think so. If you're sure it's the problem, then getting rid of it should clear up your symptoms."

"Oh, he'd never get rid of it! What if we just put it in a box somewhere?"

"It would have to be an airtight box. A locking plastic bin, perhaps?"

"I'll see what I can do. Thanks a lot."

Ian was waiting for me outside. As soon as I came out, he said, "So?"

"We need to talk."

At the look of alarm on his face, I quickly said, "No, it's nothing like that. But . . . Ian, that blanket of yours . . ."

"What about it?"

"I think I'm allergic to it. That's why I couldn't breathe this morning. You have to . . . put it away somewhere. The nurse recommended an airtight box. I'll pick one up for you later."

He gave me the strangest look. "If you didn't like it, you should have just said so."

"I didn't say I didn't like it! I know how much it means to you. But I can't sleep with that thing on top of me."

"I'll keep it on my side of the bed."

"Uh huh. That worked so well last night. You dragged it all over the bed - my side, your side, upside-down. No. It has to go."

"Can't - can't you just take something? Isn't there some other way?"

"I don't want to take pills! You know me and pills. I have trouble swallowing them."

"You could get shots."

"Needles? They're worse than pills! I hate getting shots! Can't you just . . . put it away for a while?"

"But it's my blankie! It's . . . it's all I have left of my mother. She made it with her own hands! How can I just put it away?"

"I didn't say get rid of it. I know how much it means to you. Just put it in a box, where you can see it, and it won't bother me."

"I can't do that!"

"Then I'm gonna have to sleep in another room tonight. I'm sorry, buddy, but I can't be in the same room with that thing. It's just not possible. Not if I want to breathe in the morning, anyway."

"Fine."

"No, I'm - wait, what?"

"I said fine. If you don't want to sleep with me, you should have just said so."

"That is not what I said! Why can't you just put the stupid baby blanket away and grow up?"

One of these days, my mouth is going to get me killed. I watched as Ian's whole face kind of crumpled in on itself.

"_Fraz_, Ian, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I keep saying stuff like that. I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, you did," he said. "You're only ever completely honest with me." Then he walked away.

I felt so bad, I didn't know what to do. I had to make it up to him somehow. But I didn't know how.

We kind of avoided each other for the rest of the day. I had hoped we'd make up by bedtime, but it didn't happen. So I snuck into the room when I knew Ian wasn't there, and grabbed a few things I would need. Then I went to the closest guest room, and bunked down for the night.

I hoped this wasn't the end for us. It would be stupid to break up over something like a blanket. Maybe I should try the pills after all.

_First thing in the morning, _I decided, and went to sleep.

I woke up to the familiar feeling of another body draped over mine. Wait a minute . . .

The bed was narrow, but there was just enough room for me to scoot back against the wall, once I disentangled myself. Sure enough, Ian was lying across the space I had formerly occupied. As I watched, he started to wake up.

"What are you doing in here?" I said.

"I got lonely."

"I notice you didn't bring your blankie with you."

"No, I . . . I packed it up. In a box, just like you said."

I felt oddly touched. "You did that? For me?"

"I thought about it, and I decided that if I had to choose between the blankie and you . . . I'd rather have you."

Awwww. I didn't know what to say. I leaned forward and kissed him on the nape of his neck. "Thanks," I said. "I know how much that meant to you."

"But you mean more. Don't ever leave me again."

"I won't." I slid off the bed and grabbed my clothes, heading into the bathroom. "People are more important than things. Even special things that mean a lot to us."

"I'm glad you said that," Ian said, in such a way that I had to come out of the bathroom to see his face.

"What happened?"

"Well, you know that big green robot toy of yours? The one with all the spiky bits on top?"

"My Omnizord?" I felt a sudden sense of dread. "What about it?"

"It wasn't my fault! I was trying to put it away, up on the shelf, and it kind of . . . fell. And a couple of pieces kind of broke off. But we can fix it! I think I can glue it back together!"

"That was a special order from Japan! It cost me a lot of -" Then I saw his face. "And it's not as important as you are. We'll fix it."

"Okay." And that was the end of that.


	9. Don't Like, Don't Read

_Note: all spelling mistakes are intentional._

* * *

><p>"What's slash?" Ian asked me one night, out of the blue.<p>

I looked over at him. He was using my laptop instead of the room's desktop computer, and I wondered what he had found. "Let me see that."

To my relief, it wasn't porn. At least, I didn't think it was.

The page heading was MIRROR WORLDS. It was the fanfiction site based on Maya's book.

"I thought we agreed, all of us," I said, "that we weren't gonna look at this stuff any more. You remember what happened last time?"

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm not going above PG-13 rated stories. Absolutely no porn."

"Well, good."

"Do the people who write this stuff know that it's real? I mean, that we're real people, and not just characters in a book?"

"I don't think so. It would be weird if they did. Then again, I read that one with the snakes . . ."

"What one with the snakes?"

"Never mind. You don't wanna know."

"Why?"

"Trust me. What's that you've found?"

"It says slash. What's slash?"

"Oh, that's . . . same-sex relationships."

"Like us?"

"Yeah, I guess, like us. Only they usually write characters who are straight in canon, just because they think the characters look hot."

"Oh. I guess that's why they paired you and Kit together."

"What?" I had to see this.

* * *

><p>I Knew You Were Ready<p>

by Kitance Lover1

Summary: Chance finally tells Kit how he really feels, but does the other boy feel the same? SLASH - you have been warned. DON'T LIKE DON'T READ!

* * *

><p>"What does that mean, 'don't like don't read?'" Ian asked me.<p>

"I don't know. I guess it means if you don't like slash, don't read it."

* * *

><p>Chance waited until everyone else had gone before he approached Kit. "Can I talk to you?"<p>

"Sure." Kit nodded. "Talk."

"It's kind of, um, perosnal . . ."

"Perosnal? What is that word supposed to be?" Ian was reading over my shoulder. I wouldn't have minded so much if he hadn't rested his chin on me. I waved him back.

"I don't know. So far it doesn't seem too bad."

I read on.

"I'm really glad you're staying with us," Chance said. "I like having you around."

"Well, thanks. It's good to have friends here."

"Actually, I was thinking we could be . . more than frieds."

* * *

><p>"There's another typo," Ian helpfully pointed out. "I should e-mail the author about this. She should fix it."<p>

I barely heard him. I was staring at the screen in shock. How did she know? How did this (presumed) stranger know about my super-secret crush on Kit? I hadn't told anyone. Yet there it was, splashed across the page in black and white.

I backed out of the story for a minute and checked the archive to see how many other slash pairings were represented. I found a lot of Kit/Len, some Kit/Trent, and even some Kase/Maya. Less popular were Chance/Price, Chance/Hunt, and some names which I didn't recognize at first, but I read a few and found that they were our mirror twins. Drew/James was the most popular of those.

There was some Chance/Kit, but not a lot. And apparently the author was the only one to smush the names together; everyone else wrote them out.

"There's no Chance/Ian. None at all."

"Will you stop reading over my shoulder?"

"What, don't they believe us as a couple?"

"We don't really get any scenes together in the book. It's kind of a long shot for a fiction pairing." Thank goodness.

"You should write one."

"Then it wouldn't be fiction."

"They wouldn't know that."

"Uh uh, no way. I am not getting into this insanity. I read that one where we bonded with our Advent Beasts by having sex with them."

"But they're mechanical."

"That doesn't stop these people. They write about Autocons having sex. I mean, I've heard."

He either let that go or didn't notice. "Do I get any action at all in these stories?"

"You really want to know?"

"I feel all left out. Nobody wants me to slash with anybody. Do I even get to be in any stories? Please tell me I'm there somewhere."

"All right." I did a search, and came up with . . . one story. Ian had been paired with the author's self-insert, a sugar-high, drooling, hyperactive twelve-year-old . . . sort of like him turned up to eleven. Scary thought, that.

"Can I read that one?" he asked.

"I doubt you'd want to." I bookmarked it anyway, in case he wanted to go back to it, and clicked back to the one with me and Kit.

* * *

><p>"How would you feel," Chance said, leaning in closer, "if I told you I liked you in that way."<p>

"What way is that?" Kit was stalling, and Chance knew it.

"Kit, I know you're young, but don't tell me you're too naïve to know what I mena. I-" he reached out and grabbed Kit's shoulders-"I love you. I have since I first met you. You have to have felt it."

Kit was shaking his head, trying to pull away. "No, I . . . I'm not ready for this."

"I think you're ready."

"Please don't."

"You want this as much as I do. Admit it."

"Chance, don't-"

Chance leaned in firther still and kissed Kit on the lips, cutting off his felt so powerful to do what he'd dreamed of for weeks, months. He came up for air and stared directly int Kit's blue eyes.

"Do that again," the dragon said.

"I knew you were ready."

* * *

><p>There were four more chapters. But I couldn't read any more. I felt like I might throw up.<p>

"That was . . . different," said Ian. "Can I have it back now?"

"Not yet," I said. I clicked the reviews. All of them were of the "OMG this is soooo good!" variety, which made me feel sicker. People who write stuff like this should not be encouraged.

I decided to send her my own review.

* * *

><p>What is this? Chance and Kit? Not in a million years! And you really should proofread your work before you submit it. I stopped counting the typos when I hit double digits. This is awful and you should be ashamed of yourself!<p>

* * *

><p>I didn't know if she'd bother reading it, but I hit SEND anyway. That'd teach her.<p>

Two days later, I got a response.

Most authors will reply to a review with a few words of gratitude. They know how to take criticism without having a meltdown. Why couldn't Kitance Lover1 be one of those?

I knew I shouldn't have put my real e-mail address in the box. But I hadn't expected this:

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! MY STORY IS BRILIANT! IT'S A BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY AND IM NOT ASHAMED OF IT! YOUR THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE ASHAMED! YOUR A COWARD HIDING BEHIND A SCREEN MAKING FUN OF PEPOL WHO CAN REALLY WRITE! IM BLOCKING YOUSO YOU CANT LEAVE YOUR GARBIJ ALL OVER MY STORIS AGAIN!

Wow. My eyes were burning. Not so much from the message, but from the block paragraph in all caps.

But I couldn't let her get away with it. I sent her a PM:

First of all, turn off your Caps Lock. It's the big button to the left of your keyboard. Off? Good. Don't turn it on again.

Second, you really should invest in a spell checker, or better yet, read a dictionary, before you can claim to "really write". Professional writers don't make so many spelling mistakes. (Or if they do, they have someone paid to catch those mistakes, and correct them.)

Third, when you post your work to a public site, you put it out there for all to see. You can't tell them "Don't look at this if you don't like it!" How will they know they don't like it until they read it? You should say "Don't like, don't review" or "Don't like, don't complain to me." Or something of that nature, since that's what you really mean.

Finally, why don't you try another pairing? There aren't any Chance/Ian stories out there. I'd like to see one.

Ta,

A Fan

I had no way of knowing if she'd even read it, or if the blocking extended to PMs as well as reviews. If she didn't . . . well, I tried.

And so I was surprised to find this in my e-mail, a few days later:

Your right my spelling sux. But my compy doesnt have spelchek, so what do I do?

And I can post my stuff where I want! This is a public site which means its for everyon and that means me too! you cant tell me what to do!

Which was about what I expected. Typical teenage fanbrat.

Then I looked down at the last line:

Chanse/Ian sounds fun ill try it soon.

Oh boy. This could not be good.


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